


Silent Watch

by clouds_in_jars



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clouds_in_jars/pseuds/clouds_in_jars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5...<br/>The boy from Ten is hunched on a pedestal two spaces to his left. Isaac, he recalls. One of the few names he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

10\. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5...

He can feel the countless eyes on him. They sear through his thin waterproof jacket before glancing off and falling on the next set of shoulders and panicked eyes in the circle.  
He is not sure what they have each seen in him. Their killer. Their prey. He is not quite sure what he hopes they have seen.  
Figures twitch and tremble at the edges of his vision. Some sway with bravado. The boy with the buzz cut from Three fidgets nervously. Most quiver with uncontrollable fear.  
The boy from Ten is hunched on a pedestal two spaces to his left. Isaac, he recalls. One of the few names he remembers. 

He remembers watching them all at their reapings.  
Uncle Peter's sharp eyes and even murmurs listing off the weaknesses he sees in each tribute. Breaking them into pieces so all his nephew has to do is reach out and crush the one small, vulnerable piece left at their core. 

The girl from Six with messy blonde hair and clothing that drowns her whole frame has a bone shaking seizure at her reaping for everyone to see. He sees her weakness and hears it in Peter's quiet words but he looks at her eyes. There was fire there before she went down.

Peter breaks the pair from One down for him. Cracks through their ice cold beauty and finds his need to be perfect and her need to stain the ground with blood. Neither is simple. Neither is going to beat him if he does this right. Or so his Uncle tells him.

The boy from Nine yields very little from Peter. Perhaps his sheer size. A lack of training maybe. Derek is looking elsewhere. His eyes are calm. Not cocky. Not cold. His eyes are knowing. A knowledge that he does not have what it takes. A knowledge that it will not matter who finally takes him down because he has no desire to win. He knows what it will cost.

He does not watch the reaping from District Seven. He was there. He does not need to see it from the other side. 

The girl from Two is all porcelain and shadow. A Career. A willing tribute. Peter sees the tightness in her jaw and the objects of her gaze and finds family and duty beneath her skin. He tells Derek that it will not be easy to reach. Derek thinks that maybe he is looking at the face of his killer.

District Twelve spits out a wide eyed asthmatic with stumbling limbs and a crooked jaw. Peter scowls at the mentor whose calculated gaze follows the gasping boy's progress and grunts that with Deaton in his corner the boy may not be totally hopeless.

Peter warns him not to underestimate what lies beneath the cloud of nervous energy and grief on the stage of District Three. The steel beneath panicked eyes tells him all he needs to know before his Uncle even opens his mouth. 

The male tribute from Ten causes a stir. A painfully fragile boy. All limbs, bruises and sprawling curls as he volunteers for his older brother. His voice is almost swallowed in the crowd. His brother, halfway to the stage, looks back in alarm. There is screaming and struggling as the older boy is dragged back to the crowd. There are curses hurled off screen at an unseen figure. There are straining muscles and tortured eyes. Then there is just Isaac Lahey. The thin fifteen year old from District Ten. Peter sees only breakable pieces. Pain to target. Weakness to feast upon. 

Derek sees something different.  
He sees Laura's eyes.

...4. 3. 2. 1.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek doesn’t run. His legs are aching to move. To dash. To scramble. Survival instinct, that’s what Peter had called it. Peter also said to wait. To watch.  
> “After all, everyone is watching you Derek. They just don’t know it yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has read so far.

…3. 2. 1.  
  
 _Laura. ___  
  
Derek sees her in the glassy panic of his blue eyes.  
  
 _Laura ___. Her eyes were glassy with death when he saw them last. Projected in the town square. Hands clutched at her stomach. Frozen around the spear that bent her in two as she fell. Day Nine of her Games. Only two years ago. _Laura ___.  
But Laura isn’t here now.  
  
Derek doesn’t run. His legs are aching to move. To dash. To scramble. Survival instinct, that’s what Peter had called it. Peter also said to wait. To watch.  
  
“After all, everyone is watching you Derek. They just don’t know it yet.”  
  
So he waits.  
  
The Cornucopia comes alive before him. A towering steel beacon in the centre of the clearing. Bulging backpacks and wooden crates brimming with food call out to him from within the metal horn. Trees rise tall behind the pedestals. Thick branches obscure what lies beyond in the forest but this is terrain Derek knows. This could almost be home.  
  
Home.  
  
Bodies crash and collide. The screams and screeches are overwhelming. The silence as each one cuts off is deafening.  
The boy from Three, thin and nimble is dashing off, unnoticed, from the mouth of the Cornucopia with a backpack and a wooden bat. He can feel Peter’s icy blue stare following the boy’s escape as if it is his own.  
  
“Do not underestimate desperation Derek. What else are killers made from?”  
  
Twelve is stumbling his way out of sight. Empty handed. Wheezing. Tripping. Alive.  
  
Derek has waited long enough.  
He ducks low, dashes off the pedestal and reaches for a nearby wooden crate filled with apples. He pockets a couple and leaves the rest scattered in the dirt and dried leaves as he reaches for his true prize.  
The wooden slats of the crate splinter beneath his boot. He curls his hands around the sturdy piece of timber he has freed. Sharp and broken at both ends. Like Uncle Peter’s smile when his nails met the final tribute’s throat in his Games.  
  
“What else are killers made from?”  
  
He clutches the timber tightly until he can feel its texture imprint on his palm. He turns to run, to lose himself in the forest but falling to the ground just a few feet to his left…  
  
 _Laura ___.  
  
No, Isaac.  
  
Isaac, whose limbs scatter in every direction. He rolls and crawls and scrambles desperately back but the boy from One, jaw etched in stone and eyes alight, towers over him. The spear is aimed. Launched.  
  
Crack.  
  
The spear deflects as Derek thrusts his stake against its tip. His arms strain from the effort. He growls as he shoves his weight forward, throwing One off balance. One throws his shoulder against Derek as he falls and both tumble to the ground.  
Derek slips on dew-slicked leaves as he struggles to stand. Isaac gasps, all curls and panic, as Derek hauls him along the ground by his jacket. The spear sinks sickeningly deep into the dirt just beside the boy’s head.  
  
He makes a break for the tree line, dragging Isaac’s struggling, stumbling body in tow. He pushes through the first thick branches, concealing the Cornucopia from view. Stumbling on a root, he crashes to the ground, Isaac falling with him.  
He feels the shadow before he sees it and turns to meet the dirtied tip of One’s spear an inch from his eye.  
  
Derek freezes.  
Is it blood or dirt staining the weapon’s tip? It doesn’t matter.  
  
His eyes meet One’s. Glassy. Dead. He can see none of the burning desire for perfection that Peter pointed out to him. Only fear and pain. Death: the great equaliser.  
  
The girl from One lets out no wail of grief. Her wildfire hair sticks to the sweat on her face as she shoves the knives deeper into her District partner’s heart.  
Derek doesn’t breathe as she lets her victim’s body fall limply to the ground. The girl from Two calls her back to the clearing and she dashes out of sight. Derek and his thundering heart remain beneath her notice.  
  
A cannon fires.  
  
Ten more follow.  
  
Derek grips the stake tight in his right hand and turns from the bloodbath.  
He is met with Isaac’s wary eyes and a small dagger clutched in his pale, shaking hand. The bruises on his skin have long since been buried by Capitol stylists but the painful greys and blues still ghost around the corners of his eyes.  
There is an innocence and a quiet strength staring back that is so, so familiar to Derek.  
  
But there is a wild, cornered look at the edges of those wide eyes that keeps him frozen where he kneels.  
  
“Desperation Derek. What else are killers made from?”


	3. Chapter 3

Derek doesn’t blink. He just watches Isaac. The way his knuckles are white around the dagger. The grip is obviously awkward and unfamiliar for him but the desperation is not.

Derek reaches slowly into his pocket and pulls out one of the shiny red apples he picked up. Isaac eyes him warily.

He tosses the apple towards Isaac who catches it in his free hand. Confusion spreads across his features as he glances back at Derek, looking every bit the boy that he is. Derek shrugs once in response.

“The careers have a pack. I need one too.” He bites out.

Isaac’s gaze hovers between the dagger and the apple, clearly thrown, before lowering the dagger into his own pocket. He nods once. That is all Derek needs. They have to move.

He pockets his own apple and stands, beckoning Isaac after him as they head deeper into the forest. He can imagine Uncle Peter’s hollow chuckle as he watches the scene.

“You picked a hell of a time to start making friends Derek.”

Derek sets a quick pace, putting as much distance between One’s body and them as he can. Isaac matches him stride for stride. Derek is grateful for the silence. He is even more grateful for the company. He leads Isaac on a twisting, turning path through the trees. As they trek further in Derek forces himself to relax just a little. He unclenches his shoulder muscles and lengthens his stride. This is what he knows.  
When he picks up the trickle of water to his left, he adjusts their path.

“Survive.” Peter told him. “By any means. That is your first priority.”

The creek is small but flowing steadily. He signals for Isaac to wait until he has made sure the area is clear. The water is cool as Derek cups his hands below its surface. His wooden stake sits by his left boot, accessible within a moment’s notice.

Isaac drinks beside him in silence. Derek doesn’t worry about the possibility of poison. This must be one of the few water sources and it would not do to have the tributes dropping like flies from dehydration. Besides, death is not exactly a distant concept for him anymore.

Derek leads Isaac away from the water once they have finished. No doubt there will be more tributes arriving soon. He follows along the creek bed as long as he can before he begins to hear leaves crunching and footsteps in the distance. Moving deeper into the forest, they come across a grove of trees that is formed more thickly than the rest. Derek makes his way through the narrow opening. It will provide them with much needed shelter from searching eyes, especially in the coming dark. Isaac slips easily through the narrow entrance to the grove behind him. 

Derek lowers himself to the ground. His legs are finally starting to feel the long journey. His heart is starting to feel the arena closing in. Isaac slumps down beside him just beyond his reach.

“We’ll look for food tomorrow.” Derek says.

Isaac nods in agreement, his shoulders hunching over his knees. Eyes heavy. He meets Derek’s gaze in the fading light. Derek is taken aback by his earnest intensity.

“Why?” Isaac whispers.

Because I couldn’t save Laura.  
Because I don’t want you to die.  
Because I can’t be a monster.

“Because it’s better to have allies than be alone.” 

Certainly not a lesson he learned from Peter. Laura taught him that. Her absence cemented the lesson.

“Why did you volunteer?” Derek blurts out.

Isaac smiles thinly.

“Some things are worse than death.” He rasps.

Derek knows. Derek knows flames and screams nothing like what he heard today. Derek knows helplessness and spears and death that is not his own. There are many things worse than dying.

Isaac looks up at Derek. His thin smile becomes a real grin. Small and broken as it is. 

“Some people are worth dying for.”

Derek takes his words with a nod. 

The Anthem blares from above, the crest lighting up the sky.

The boy from One stares down at Derek from the sky. His eyes look dead even in the picture.

Eleven dead. Both their District partners. Derek didn’t know her but he feels the last loss of home somewhere deep in his chest. The boy from Twelve made it through the first day. Maybe Peter was right about Deaton. The boy from Three lost his District partner but he too made it through the day. 

Silence falls as the girl from Twelve’s picture fades into the night sky. 

Derek looks over at Isaac. 

“So many.” Isaac whispers. 

Derek shrugs. He has been to many funerals. Mourned many lives. He doesn’t have the energy left to add these new eleven to his list.  
He glances up and sees his own grief reflected in those blue eyes.

“Who did you lose?” Isaac asks.

Derek knows he is not talking about the girl from Seven. He doesn’t get a chance to answer.

The boy from Two comes crashing into the grove. Sword in hand. Painted with blood.


	4. Chapter 4

The boy from Two stumbles towards Derek. Blood trails down from his hairline into eyes that brim with fury. 

Dual cannons sound in succession as he approaches.

Derek remembers him from training. The pair from Four playfully nudged him into the small lap pool in the training centre, laughing right up until the boy from One had to drag him, spluttering, flailing and cursing from the shallow water. Derek had seen the same fury then. He has no doubt who those two cannons were for.

Two springs to life. Launching full force towards them. 

Derek ducks under the first deadly swing from the sword. It slices through the thick night air. His ears are ringing with the sound as he shoves Isaac out of its path.

Everything turns red as the sword whips across his exposed back. Burning. Like flames.

He rolls. Slashes. His stake deflects another blow. The ground digs into his back and he can’t contain a growl of agony as he pushes further down to gain more leverage. 

Two swings back again with the sword and Derek scrambles to move, roll, crawl. Anything. But his movements are small stutters and his back feels cloven in two. The sword arcs down.

And Isaac is crashing into Two. All limbs and bones but with enough surprise to knock him off his feet.

They crash to the ground and Isaac tumbles free, his feet nimbly move into position to spring away. But Two is faster.

His sword lashes out and Isaac’s cheek bleeds red.

Derek pushes up from the ground with everything he has. Peter’s voice is screaming in his head. Part of it is in burning, blistering pain but the loudest words are telling him to “Survive. Just survive.”  
Those words no longer apply to just his life.

Two is stabbing out, to skewer Isaac’s chest to the ground but Isaac is rolling and then Two is screaming, Isaac’s dagger sticking out of his leg. 

Two is limping and blood soaked but he is not giving up. He has Isaac cornered against the edge of the grove and Isaac’s dagger is still planted in muscle and bone. Isaac is cringing back, curling up small and it all looks so natural. So practised.

And Derek has a choice.

Except he knows he already made it back at the bloodbath.  
He will not hesitate now.

Two lunges. So does Derek. He buries his stake at the base of Two’s skull. 

The boy sinks to the ground, heavy and boneless.  
His cannon booms in the stillness.

Isaac uncurls slowly. He stares at Derek for a long time. Derek feels his gaze sweeping over the dirt and blood. The clenched fists and hard line of his mouth. He feels the stare linger on the pale pallor of his cheeks. He is struck by a sudden and desperate sadness that Isaac has to see this. Has to see him be this. Then Isaac is moving again.

He retrieves his dagger with a trembling hand. 

Derek watches him make his way over and sees the blood droplets trickling down Isaac’s cheek like teardrops. He flinches when he feels the feather light touch of Isaac’s hand on his shoulder, steering him away from the grove.

Derek feels a pang of realisation. Isaac is not afraid of him. Somehow that makes everything worse.

“Some things are worse than death.”

Following Isaac’s lead, Derek is once again moving through the forest. Nothing here feels like home now. He doesn’t register their destination until Isaac is beckoning him towards the river. 

Isaac begins washing his hands, his dagger, his cheek.

“We need to clean your back or it will get infected.” He mumbles from the water’s edge. 

Derek looks at his hands. Slick with blood. Not his own.

And something deep inside him is burning to a crisp.


	5. Chapter 5

Isaac works methodically in the darkness, cleaning out the pieces of leaves and dirt from the gash on Derek’s back. The base of the wound brushes against the three black spirals inked into his skin. The one thing he would not let the stylists change or cover up. Isaac works gently around it. Not a word passes between them.

At sunrise, something catches the light above them. Derek reaches for the small silver parachute as it drifts to the ground. A few rolls are bundled together and when he undoes the string he catches the cool fresh scent of home.

A small note is nestled amongst the bread.

‘Show them you can do it again.’

With nothing in his stomach to throw up he doesn’t bother with the effort.

Derek hands some bread off to Isaac, assessing the thin red line that curves along his cheek. The cut is sealed and the blood has long since stopped flowing but Derek can still track the paths of the droplets that stained his pale skin.

Taking out the apple that has managed to survive a whole day in his pocket, Derek chews slowly. There is no need to prompt his stomach into throwing up what little he can swallow.

“I lost my sister.” He murmurs into the silence in answer to Isaac’s question the night before. It is easier to say now that the illusion of safety has been shattered.

Easier to say, but not the whole truth.

The mask of a Victor had never sat well on Uncle Peter. He had found something in the arena that he was not prepared to surrender to anyone. Derek remembers his father’s anxious pacing and his mother’s steely silence on the day Peter’s little rebellion against the President had failed. He remembers it well because it was the last day he saw either of them alive. His cousins, his aunts, his little brothers and sisters. Everyone went up in the flames.

When he and Laura had come in from their shift hauling lumber in the forest their home was nothing but smoking ruins.

And Peter was painting his skin with the ashes.

The next year Laura died alone and far from home.

And now Derek is here in familiar woods that have never felt farther from home.

But he is not alone.

Isaac nods and takes out his own apple.

Derek can barely keep his hand steady around the stake but he grips it tightly regardless as they make their way along the riverbank. They have to eat. Rolls and apples will not be enough.

Isaac coaxes some small rodents out from the undergrowth. His skill and patience are captivating. Derek watches him crouch beside the roots of a tree for close to an hour, silent and still. He looks more at home than Derek has seen so far. District Ten. Animals. Of course. Isaac gently, painstakingly lures three different creatures into his waiting hands before releasing every single one of them.  
The afternoon sun has long since faded.

Isaac turns to Derek as the final one scurries away.

“We have nothing to cook them with.” He offers.

Derek nods. Despite the stake in his clenched hand and the growing rumble in his stomach there is not a single part of him that wants to argue.

They sleep hunched up amongst the sprawling roots of a tree. Derek’s back throbs in time with the rise and fall of Isaac’s chest as he drifts between sleep and awareness. He cannot put himself at ease.  
As dawn breaks and Derek hears Isaac’s stomach growl in answer to his own, he makes his decision.

“We need to eat.”

Isaac grits his teeth and reaches for his dagger, getting to his feet. Derek grasps the hilt, gently encircling Isaac’s hand with his own. He meets Isaac’s questioning eyes with a small smile that barely makes a dent on his face. Isaac’s gratitude is visible in the crinkled corners of his eyes. He slowly relinquishes the dagger and falls into step behind Derek. Isaac’s footsteps barely make a sound and Derek is keenly aware of his own jarring steps. He has never had to hide himself the way Isaac has.

He does not have the patience that Isaac has.

It takes him until the afternoon but he eventually corners a small squirrel and is trying to cut off its route up a tree when he hears it.

Two bodies thrashing amongst the dried leaves.

One of them is screaming.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek shoves Isaac into the shadow of the tree, frantically searching for the source of the screams. He grips the dagger in one hand and his stake in the other, slowly stalking towards the tree line where it breaks into a clearing just beyond his sight.

He motions for Isaac to stay hidden and crouches amongst the low hanging branches, peering through to the scene beyond.

The girl from One is on the ground, her red hair splayed out and matted with leaves. She is struggling, getting in short punishing jabs to the ribs of her opponent.

But it is the girl from Six who is screaming.

She is cursing and wild. The thick curls of her blonde hair fall, untamed, across her vision. Her arms swing clumsily but heavily against One’s defences. She is all raw anger and fear. No finesse. But she is keeping the girl from One pinned to the ground. She is causing some damage.

The broad-shouldered Boy from Nine is struggling up from his knees, a knife buried in his gut. He is inching towards the brawling pair. Each movement draws a rasping gasp but his eyes are steady.

Boyd.

Derek’s mind flings the name from somewhere within his memory. He remembers him from training. His strong build had the Careers beckoning him to the weapons stations with interest.

He refused every offer.

He spent the whole week making fires and threading fishing twine with the girl from Six. She had suffered another seizure on the final day of group training and Derek had watched him ever so softly brush the hair from her face as she slept it off beside the camouflage station.

And now she is once again a mess of flailing limbs and he is crawling ever closer to her.

Derek watches Boyd reach Six’s side. He is struggling to breathe. His shoulders heaving with every inhale. Even now, he could easily finish the girl from One, pinned against the forest floor. Instead he reaches for Six’s hand, halting its arc towards One’s face. He clasps it gently and she turns to him, taking in his blood soaked shirt and drawn cheeks.

Derek turns away as her eyes harden. He has seen that look before on Peter’s face, covered in ash and shaking with grief.

His head snaps back up when he hears the boy groan. The knife that impaled him is now in Six’s hand and she is aiming it at One’s throat.

Until suddenly she isn’t.

An arrow sinks deep into her shoulder and she screams in surprise and pain.

The girl from Two drops lightly from the tree beside Derek and he flinches back further into the shadows to avoid her gaze. Her bow is gripped between long, tense fingers and a quiver is slung comfortably on her back. She makes her way towards the other tributes.

Six shudders once, giving in to the agony, before she stabs down with the knife, burying it in One’s side.

The arrow Two lets fly a second later hits Boyd’s chest where he has thrown his body in front of Six.

Two is all icy efficiency as she shoots arrow after arrow into Boyd. He sags heavily, his hand never letting go of Six’s. He makes no move to attack, taking each blow straight to the chest until his head hits the ground.

His cannon echoes through the clearing.

Six lunges for Two who buries an arrow deep into her chest, just below her heart. Two leaves her writhing beside Boyd’s still body and crouches beside the girl from One. Derek can hear her gurgling breaths from his hiding place. Stray flame red strands fall from her face as she gives a short, sharp nod. Her eyes are wet with tears but her chin is set, her gaze unflinching.

Two returns the nod and another arrow flies.

Another cannon sounds.

Two’s face is carved from stone as she collects her arrows from Boyd’s chest. A quick blink the only acknowledgement that she has heard Six’s pleas for her to stop.  
She turns and marches from the clearing, the last remnant of the Career pack. She leaves Six choking on her own breaths.

Derek glances back at Isaac, tucked into the long shadow of the tree where he left him, and steals slowly into the clearing towards Six’s side.

She twitches when he walks into her line of sight but she has no energy left to fight. He kneels down beside her and grits his teeth at the sight of her wounds up close. Her eyes are fading fast, her grip on Boyd’s hand falling loose.

Derek does the only thing he can do to help her.

Her cannon rings loud in his ears.

He runs his fingers down her eyelids to close them and wipes the dagger clean on his jacket.

Derek resolutely stares at his feet as he leaves the clearing. There will be enough people watching their bodies lifted out of the arena. He can give them this one small measure of privacy.

He exhales heavily. Once. Twice. Expelling the scent of their sweat and blood from his mind. He is alive. Isaac is alive. And they have to focus on surviving. He slows his steps as he approaches the tree where he left Isaac.

There is nobody crouching in the shadow of the tree.

His stomach clenches.

A small, pained gasp draws his focus to the left. Derek raises the dagger and whips around to face the sound. A figure stands a few trees away. The boy from Twelve. He is unarmed and holding out his palms towards Derek. His bottom lip is caught in his teeth and he is glancing to his side.

The boy from Three is standing there half hidden by a tree but Derek gets a good view of his clenched jaw and the wooden bat in his hands.

And Isaac.

His back is pressed against Three’s chest and the bat’s handle is across his throat, digging in hard.

And he is gasping for air.


	7. Chapter 7

Derek stalks forward, leading with the dagger. The hand holding the stake trembles but he keeps it tucked behind his back. He sees red.

“Whoa. Whoa! Wait!” The boy from Twelve is matching his strides. Stumbling backward and gripping tightly to the straps of his backpack. The bat presses tighter against Isaac’s throat and his strangled gasp halts Derek in his tracks.

Twelve looks frantically between the boy from Three and Derek. He turns imploringly to Derek.

“Please just listen. We’re not gonna hurt anybody.”

Derek forces his feet to hold steady and locks eyes with Isaac. He is too far away. Too far for Derek to reach. He watches on. Tense and helpless. Isaac’s fingers claw uselessly at the bat.  
Twelve turns away from Derek, and an urgency creeps into his voice.

“Stiles! We’re _not gonna hurt anybody _.”__

The boy from Three, Stiles, stares hard at Derek.

“We need you not to kill us right now. Okay?”

Derek holds the dagger steady. His other hand quakes behind his back. Isaac’s lips are turning blue and Derek is drowning.

“Okay?” Stiles snaps.

“Alright!” Derek shouts. He drops the dagger and the stake. They land with muted thuds on the forest floor.

And Isaac is breathing again.

Derek rushes forward to catch him as he slumps, vulnerable, on the ground. He is sucking in lungfuls of air, eyes watering as he inhales. An angry red line snakes across his throat.

“Okay, look.” Stiles starts.

And then Derek is crushing him against the closest tree.

Stiles wheezes. “You’re upset. Obviously. Look, this probably wasn’t the best way to…”

Derek slams him harder into the tree.

“I don’t need a knife to kill you.” He growls.

“I’m getting that.” Stiles gasps out.

“We have food.” Twelve interrupts.

Derek glances over to see him helping Isaac to his feet. His hands are gentle and his eyes apologetic.

“Not the best way to stop him from killing us Scott!” Stiles groans, struggling under Derek’s grip. Once more on the receiving end of Derek’s searing glare, he sighs, slumping.

“Look. There are only seven of us left. You don’t need to trust us and you sure as hell don’t need us to survive.”

Derek grunts in response.

“But it’s not just you.” Stiles continues, jutting his chin towards Isaac. “And a few extra eyes and some food could make a difference.” He glances pointedly at Scott who is adjusting the backpack on his shoulders.  
Derek looks back at Isaac, leaning heavily on Scott’s shoulder. Scott is making no move to threaten him. Instead, his eyes are fixed guiltily on the purpling bruise across Isaac’s throat. Derek steps back.

“One night. That’s it.” He grits out.

“Deal.” Stiles says, brushing himself off.

Derek leans in close, scowling at the boy.

“Hurt him again and I’ll tear you apart.”

“Understood.” Stiles replies, eyes fixed on his boots.

Derek watches him set off slowly, bat gripped in front of him like an extra limb. He follows behind, taking Isaac’s weight from Scott. The two boys converse quietly as they walk ahead and Derek turns to Isaac, clearing his throat roughly.

“Are you…?” He struggles for the words.

“No. Not even close.” Isaac chuckles, a small grin forming on his lips.

Derek feels it spread, infectiously, to his own features. He ruffles Isaac’s hair, adjusting the boy’s arm more firmly around his shoulder. Retrieving the dagger and stake, he tucks them into his jacket pockets in order to free his hands to support Isaac as they walk.

The sun is dipping just out of sight by the time Stiles leads them to a hollowed out tree. Thick, leafy branches are positioned around the tree trunk to obscure the space beyond. They eat in silence. Dried fruit and thin strips of salted meat. Scott keeps shoving food into Isaac’s hands and Derek ducks his head to hide a grin as Isaac continues to take small, wary bites from each morsel he is handed.

When Stiles announces he will stand watch, Derek is startled from his private moment of amusement. Peter’s warnings echo loud and clear in his mind. There is no way he is letting the boy with hidden steel in his eyes have a chance to catch him unguarded again.

He leaves Isaac curled inside the sturdy wood of the tree trunk. Scott positions himself between Isaac and the opening to the hollow as Derek packs away the remainder of the food. He drops the backpack beside Scott’s dozing form as he exits.

When he crouches down beside Stiles just outside, the boy is fidgeting with a dried leaf, breaking off small segments and letting them float carelessly to the ground.

“I’m sorry I hurt your friend.” Stiles mumbles. “I’m not proud of it.”

Derek stares out into the darkness. The forest is still. Quiet.

“Scott wanted to talk first but, no offence, you seem like the kind of guy to…” He gestures at the hilt of the dagger protruding from Derek’s pocket “…Stab first. I couldn’t take that chance.”

He can hear the steady breaths of the two boys sleeping peacefully behind them. Even now he is amazed by Isaac’s resistance to the despair that is curling its way into his own bones. That innocence, it seems, is also alive in Scott. He turns to face Stiles.

“Why him?”

“Why Scott?” Stiles asks, surprised. Derek nods. He watches Stiles purse his lips in thought before answering.

“The same reason you’re still with Beanpole back there.”

Derek smirks at that. Stiles quietly continues.

“He’s better than me. Not at fighting. I mean obviously he’s terrible at that. But he’s a better person. Better than me anyway.”

“You’d die for him.” Derek states. It is not a question.

“I don’t really want to die at all.” Stiles replies with a sad smile. He wrings his fingers together, tearing the last piece of his leaf in two.

“If I have to though, I’d like to go knowing someone like him is still alive. Y’know?”

Derek nods. He knows. They sit together, staring out into the deepening night. The anthem plays over their heads but Derek does not glance up to see the three faces projected in the sky. He left them behind in that clearing. He cannot look back now.

When dawn arrives and he watches Stiles carefully shake Scott and Isaac awake, he finds himself reluctant to part ways.

When he brings up the rear behind the three of them as they make their way through the forest’s misty morning, well, he can tell himself it is for safety.

After all, Peter told him to survive by any means.


	8. Chapter 8

The mist is starting to clear and the heat is closing in by the time they reach the creek. Derek kneels down, drinking deeply from the water. He feels the wound across his back pulling slightly as he leans down. It has long since stopped bleeding but his skin feels tight and raw. He jerks upright as two boots step into his vision. Scott is standing over him, holding out a fistful of dampened leaves.

“This will help.” He offers.

Derek takes the clump of greenery in his hand, nodding in response to Scott’s shy, crooked smile.

Derek hesitates, staring at the foreign foliage in his hands. He looks up at Isaac who is rubbing a leaf experimentally onto his cheek. His eyes widen in surprise and he offers Derek a quick grin before moving the bunch in his hands towards the deep purple bruising on his throat.

Derek follows his lead and finds the leaves are cool and soothing on his back. He makes do, treating the wound on his own. Despite the awkward angle, he is a long way from trusting the new pair anywhere beyond a direct line of sight.

Stiles finishes filling the two small water bottles from Scott’s backpack, stepping back from the water and surveying the tree line.

“We can’t come back here.” He says.

“We’re too exposed.” Derek agrees. “The Career from Two, she could take us out from any side.”

“Allison.” Scott pipes up.

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“That’s her name.” Scott mumbles.

Isaac snorts on his mouthful of water.

Derek catches movement at the far tree line. The leaves rustle slightly. Then part violently.

A body stumbles into the clearing on the opposite side of the river. An arrowhead glistening in his chest, the fletching protrudes stark and black behind him. He falls face first and a cannon sounds.  
Scott stands frozen, mouth ajar but Derek is already moving. He yanks on Isaac’s jacket, propelling him ahead and towards the shelter of the tree line.

“Run!” He roars at Stiles.

They sprint for the trees. Their footsteps pound heavily in his ears. Loud and frantic. He does not hear the arrow sing through the air. He does feel it sink, deep and sharp, into his shoulder. He staggers and the world goes dark for a split second. His feet continue with a will of their own and when he comes back to himself, he is barrelling through thick forest.

Isaac stutters to a halt when Derek bites back a moan but he shoves the boy forward with his good arm, yielding no momentum to the pain. Scott and Isaac pen him in on either side as they crash blindly through the undergrowth. Stiles clears the way, his bat swinging wildly at low-hanging branches.

The trees thin out and all Derek can see is sky. The ground tapers off into a jagged cliff edge and Derek halts clumsily before he gets too close to it, throwing out an arm to stop Scott’s blind momentum towards the cliff.

Stiles stands by the edge, peering down. Panting hard.

Derek sinks to his knees and then Isaac is digging his hands into Derek’s shoulder. He gasps at the sudden resurgence of pain. Isaac’s thin fingers press firmly around the arrow protruding from his flesh, trying to stop the blood streaming down. Nimbly and without warning, he snaps the shaft of the arrow, tossing it aside.

Derek howls, squinting up at him through watering eyes. Isaac’s face is pale and tense but his hands are steady and Derek swims through the pain, latching onto the support. He reluctantly surrenders to the relief of letting somebody else hold him together.

When the world realigns, he is flooded with sounds, Scott wheezing on the ground beside him, Isaac’s steady breaths right beside his ear and Stiles’ boots crunching urgently towards him.

His head snaps up to see Stiles, steely eyed and wild, swinging the wooden bat in a desperate, vicious arc right at his head.

“Desperation Derek. What else are killers made from.”

He should have seen it coming. Only six of them now. A truce could never last. And he is vulnerable. He _let_ himself be vulnerable.

“No!” Isaac screams into his ear.

And Derek is pushing, shoving Isaac out of the bat’s path, his mind fracturing into ‘Pain’ and ‘Survive’.

And the dagger is in his other hand and it’s swinging because Stiles is going over Derek’s corpse if he wants to get to Isaac and…

He doesn’t have enough time. There is not enough time. The bat is connecting with bone. Cracking. Splintering.

The boy behind him is dropping like a stone.

A cannon sounds.

He doesn’t look back at the crumpled body that lies behind him.

He can’t look away from Stiles’ eyes, from the splintered remains of the bat in his hands.

But Stiles isn’t looking at him. He is looking at the dagger in Derek’s fist. The one that has halted two inches from his heart.

“I told you we might come in handy.” He says quietly. Hollowly.

Then Isaac’s hands are both wrapping around the dagger, enclosing Derek’s own hand as it starts to shake.

Stiles stiffly turns, making his way over to Scott who is still wheezing from their run. He rubs smooth circles across his back, staring blankly at the space behind Derek. Where the body lies, broken and still.

Isaac moves around his hunched form, still clasping the dagger and Derek’s unsteady hand. He ducks his head to catch Derek’s gaze. Forcing him to meet his eyes. For a moment, Laura is looking back. Angry. Exasperated. Forgiving.

Then it is just him and Isaac and he is coming up for air. Breathing. And Stiles is looking right at him. There is horror and hurt but yes, forgiveness in his gaze. And Scott is looking at him with wide brown eyes that have never learned hatred. And Derek is shattering inside because he knows betrayal and grief and death but he does not know this.

This is something new.

This is understanding.

He watches Scott and Stiles lean into each other’s space as they put themselves back together. He lets Isaac’s hands calm his own.  
He lets go of the dagger.

He doesn’t need it in order to kill but he can’t force himself to look away from it.

He is trying.

But he is not a better person.

He wishes he could be.

There are five of them left.

Some things really are worse than death.


	9. Chapter 9

They congregate just inside the tree line, blocking the body of the boy from Six from their sight. Derek shifts his shoulder under the makeshift sling Scott is fastening around his neck. He mumbles shyly about learning from his mother as he ties together strips torn from their jackets.

Stiles is staring at his hands, littered with splinters and cuts. He shakes his head numbly when Isaac offers one of their drink bottles to soothe the damage.

They make for a broken, bleeding group as night falls.

They cannot keep dwelling on the past and Derek has no desire to look to the future. To face what he may have to do. Not while looking at the tired faces of the two people he will have to betray. Better to focus on surviving in the moment. He breaks the silence.

“What do we know about…” Derek glances pointedly at Scott. “…Allison.”

“She’s a frickin’ ghost.” Scott answers.

“And she’s President Argent’s granddaughter.” Stiles croaks.

Derek probably should have paid better attention to the tributes’ names.

“What?” Isaac chokes out beside him.

But Derek is reeling. Of course. Chris Argent. Head Peacekeeper from District Two. A pillar of duty and loyalty to the Capitol. Until he had joined Peter Hale in his doomed rebellion. The ace up the rebellion’s sleeve. Discovered as the strategist behind the failed attack at the Presidential Ball. A son with more conviction that his powerful father. A man with so much to lose. Disgraced. Disowned.

And now his daughter is here in the Games, winning back her family’s honour.

And Derek has seen his death in her eyes.

“She volunteered.” Stiles continues. “And yeah,” a small tentative smile appears as he looks over at Scott, “She’s a ghost.”

A more comfortable silence falls on the group as darkness descends among the trees surrounding them. They eat the remainder of the food stashed in Scott’s backpack. Derek savours the taste, unsure of when they will next have the chance to devour a full meal.

Scott takes the first watch, promising Stiles profusely that he will wake him after a few hours. Derek keeps the steady rise and fall of Isaac’s chest in his line of sight as he drifts off. Scott’s fond assurances growing fainter and fainter as he surrenders to sleep. 

* * *

“Derek.” A muffled voice calls.

He pushes it down. The distant echoes of a nightmare trying to cling to his mind. Nothing more.

“Derek!” The voice is inside his ear. Loud and frantic.

“Derek, move!” And Isaac is staring down at him. Eyes blown wide in panic. Hands desperately clawing at Derek’s jacket, trying to tug him upright.

He is wide awake now. Coughing and choking on air.

No. Not air.

Smoke.

There is a vicious roaring in his ears. And Isaac’s eyes are watering above him, reflecting the bright hot flames devouring the forest around them.

“Derek, come _on_!” Isaac is screaming at him.

He is on his feet, the dagger sits heavily in his pocket but this is not an enemy he can fight with weapons.

“Run!” Stiles cries from his right, disappearing into the smoke with Scott stumbling beside him.

And Derek is moving. Isaac’s elbow is gripped in his good arm and they are crashing blindly through the smoke.

He can’t breathe. He can’t see. Only the reassuring thud of Scott and Stiles’ footsteps before him leads him through the blaze. Burning, blackening trees tower over them, spitting sparks and plumes of smoke high into the night sky.

Embers rain down on his shoulders, smouldering and smoking until his back is alight. He is burning.

He rips the sling off, roaring in agony as his muscles grind inside the open wound. Wrestling his arms free from the jacket, he launches it into the inferno licking at their heels.  
Isaac finds his arm again and hauls him out of the fire’s desperate grasp. They stumble against Scott and Stiles in the haze. A gasping, sweaty mess.

“They’re pushing us somewhere.” Stiles wheezes.

“What choice do we have?” Scott replies.

Derek shoves them forward to the only sliver of forest that isn’t burning. There is no time to change their path. The fire has cut them off and left them with one very narrow, swiftly closing, route of escape.

They stagger behind each other. Smoke thickens the air and Derek feels as though he has swallowed boiling water. His throat is scalded and his stomach aches.

They are almost through. The fire is knitting together but they are going to make it.

They are going to make it.

Crack.

The tree above them is falling, slamming down and Derek grasps at pieces of fabric with both hands, tugging, shoving and throwing bodies ahead of him. Isaac gasps to his left and Stiles is struggling out of the grip in his right hand. Derek watches in a blurred haze as Stiles doubles back to Scott who is staggering behind them, bent double and sucking in smoke. He shoves the other boy forward but they are not making any progress. The tree is upon them and Stiles launches himself forward, slamming a full body tackle against Scott’s back.

Scott falls hard, sprawling at Derek’s feet and the tree crashes to the ground with a shower of sparks.

Stiles is on the other side.

Derek reaches out, dragging Scott along the ground by his ripped and blackened jacket. Scott is wheezing and coughing but he struggles against Derek’s grip, reaching towards the flames.

“Stiles!” He rasps.

And Stiles is standing there just visible behind the fallen log. He is wreathed in flame.

His mouth forms Scott’s name. His voice buried by the roaring fire.

‘Run.’ He mouths.

And Derek can see fire reflected in his eyes. They are burning. Burning so bright.

The smoke is rising around him and Derek turns away, hauling a sobbing, screaming Scott from the flames. Isaac stumbles ahead of him, almost crawling as he tries to take in the clear, cool air. Scott is clawing at him but Derek is hauling him away. Step by step. Out of earshot. Out of sight. Every muscle groans and each step is blinding agony but he can do this. He can do this for Stiles.

The roars of the flames fade into the distance and Derek collapses amongst the dirt and dried leaves. Scott’s broken, guttural sobs echoing in his ears.

A cannon sounds behind them.

Derek closes his eyes and breathes in.

The air is cool as it filters into his lungs, soothing his raw throat. He struggles to his knees, biting down hard on his lip against the pain. Blood fills his mouth, dripping onto his tongue.

All he can taste is ash.


	10. Chapter 10

Derek sits slumped on the ground, willing his lungs to stop seizing with each new gulp of clean air. The ash and soot is hardening into thick black streaks on his face but he cannot waste what precious water they have left to wash it off. It itches and he cannot shake the feeling that somehow he is still burning.

Isaac crouches at his side, blue eyes standing out startlingly against his pale, ash-streaked face. His breaths are sounding less and less like a dying man’s gaps but Derek still makes him drink half a water bottle to even the scales towards living.

Scott is standing, resolutely with his back to them, watching the red, smoky dawn break through the trees. He had broken free as soon as Derek had let him go but with nowhere to run back to he did not get far. He had stopped just a few feet from them as the anthem played, tear tracks etched starkly through the black soot marring his face.

He has yet to move.

Derek stands, treading more heavily than he would like to alert Scott to his approach. The boy doesn’t flinch when he lays a hand on his shoulder but he can feel the tension shaking just below the surface. He does not apologise. No words will make up for this.

“What’s the point of winning?” Scott’s quiet, wrecked voice asks.

Derek keeps his hand where it is. Scott is shaking now but he is not crying.

“What’s the point of winning?” He repeats fiercely, “When all we do is lose.”

Derek hangs his head. He could do it now. Put him out of his misery. It would be easy. The dagger is in his pocket and Scott’s back is ready and waiting before him.

It would be his easiest kill. He would not even have to look him in the eyes.

He dragged this sobbing, grieving boy out of the fire and away from the screams of a friend who sacrificed himself for him. Can he end his life now?

A faint ping echoes above their heads and Derek strains his neck back to see a small silver parachute approaching. He watches it sink all the way down to the ground beside him before he reaches for it. The dagger weighs heavily in his pocket.

It is a single roll of bread. There is no note. Sponsorship is expensive this far into the games and he knows this is not a gift. It is a message. A message only Uncle Peter would send.

One roll. Just you. Survive.

He splits it into three pieces.

The fire has pushed them back to the clearing where Derek ended the life of the girl from Six. There is no trace of her body, no evidence of her pain, no sign of her death.

Derek scans the tree line, keeping his hand clasped around the dagger in his jacket. He glances back towards Scott and Isaac as they stand slowly to their feet, brushing crumbs from their clothes.

“I’m sorry.” Isaac whispers with painful sincerity.

It doesn’t change a thing but Scott is looking at him like it actually means something. Maybe it does to him.

“Nobody should have to die like that. _Nobody_. Not with people watching. Not with their family watching.” Scott answers.

“I won’t have much of a problem with that.” Isaac mutters quietly, looking down.

Scott looks heartbroken.

Derek remembers back to a lonely little boy standing on stage in front of his District. Scared, haunted but ready to die. He wonders what made him choose to fight instead.

He can’t tell if the boy in his memory is Isaac or himself.

“Come on. We need a place we can defend from. We should head back to…”

And then she is dropping to the ground behind him. He spins, arm slashing viciously but she is already moving. He takes her bow hard across the face and his whole body snaps to the side. She brings it down again and he is seeing nothing but dirt. He pushes himself up, shoulder groaning but the adrenaline is quickly dulling the burn.

Scott tackles Isaac out of the path of an arrow. It ruffles his dark hair, skimming the tips of the strands as it misses its mark. Another shot behind them stops their scrambling retreat and she nocks another arrow as Derek launches himself, clumsily, painfully, desperately towards them. He collides hard with her side, knocking her to the ground but she is rolling with the motion and crouching before he can hope to stand. Her bowstring is pulled taught and the arrowhead holds firm, aimed at the centre of Scott’s forehead.

Derek moves to tackle her again but Scott throws his hand out, palm spread wide.

Nobody moves. Four sets of heavy breaths match the tense rhythm pulsing under Derek’s skin.

Scott reaches his other hand out to the arrow, wrapping his fingers gently around it. He does not push it away or tug it down. He just holds it. And looks right into her eyes.

“Allison.” He says. His eyes are burning with an emotion Derek is familiar with. One he has been on the receiving end of. Understanding.

“Do it.” Scott whispers.

The arrowhead starts to tremble. Scott’s hands are steady.

She is ice and midnight. She is weary and bleeding. She is strong and deadly. She is a soldier and a daughter.

She is here with more to prove than anyone.

“I don’t want to.” She replies.

She stares hard into Scott’s eyes. There are no tears. She is angry.

The arrow embeds itself in a branch high above their heads. A spark spits from its tip and a low electrical whine follows.

She springs to her feet.

“Are you watching?” She calls, spreading her arms wide, pacing around the clearing.

“I don’t want to!” She screams.

Another arrow. Another spark. Another whine.

“You told me I wanted this. You told me this would _fix_ everything.”

Thunk. Spark. Whine.

“Liar!” She screeches.

Thunk. Spark. Whine.

She spins harshly, facing the discoloured patch of the tree trunk right before her.

“You used me.” She hisses.

Scott stands and walks slowly towards her.

“You just wanted me to put on a good show.” She spits at the tree. 

She turns to Scott, shoulders heaving, eyes alight and tosses her bow at his feet.

“Well, Grandpa, I don’t want to.”

Scott smiles slowly and gently at her.

Dimples form on her cheeks and she is still sharp and cold and angry but there is something like hope in her eyes.

“I don’t want to.” She breathes out.

The heavy branch above her head breaks off with a deafening crack. Too cleanly, too fast. It crashes to the ground, crushing her chest beneath it.

Scott is already running for her, calling her name frantically. Derek follows with Isaac on his heels. He shuts his eyes tight when they reach her side but it can’t block out the horrible, gurgling gasps coming from her mouth.

Scott clambers past the fallen branch, its edge too smooth and evenly sliced, and wraps her free hand in his.

“Allison, Allison it’s okay.” He says. His voice remains steady even as his hand shakes around hers.

He leans down close, sheltering her body from the trees.

“Nobody is watching but me.” He whispers.

She is smiling hollowly up at him, blood starting to leak sluggishly from her mouth. Her hand squeezes back against his and he presses their foreheads together whispering words Derek cannot hear. He stays like that as she fades away, unseen by everyone but him. He holds her until she is gone.

Her cannon echoes harshly through the clearing.

Scott pulls back, brushing the hair from her face.

“Help me move this.” He rasps. Calm and steady.

They struggle with the branch, levering it up slowly and unevenly, before rolling it aside.

Her broken body lies still and alone on a bed of dried brown leaves.

Scott looks directly at the tree trunk behind her.

“District Two. I am sorry for your loss.” His voice breaks on the words and he raises three fingers to his mouth, pressing them against his lips before raising them to the sky.

In the Capitol, the mentors sit before their monitors, watching the weak asthmatic boy from District Twelve salute a fallen soldier. Peter Hale turns towards Victoria Argent, sitting tall and firm at the District Two station. Her eyes are dry, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Nothing in her carefully painted mask twitches.

She raises three fingers to her lips and returns the salute.


	11. Chapter 11

Derek runs his fingers along the edge of the dagger in his pocket. It is heavy and cool. Sharp. There is no lurking threat outside of the clearing. This is it. Three left.

Scott, who is meticulously wiping the trace of Allison’s blood from the crevices of his fingernails. Scott, whose heart bleeds for hopeless causes. Who sees beyond what has been sullied, manipulated and broken by the Capitol. Scott, who is gentle and strong and so much more than these Games deserve.

Isaac. Isaac who has Laura’s eyes without her lifelessness. Isaac who moves too carefully but still trusts so desperately. Isaac who used silence and patience as weapons to pierce through Derek and make a home where only his family reside. But Isaac is alive. And that cannot change. He will crumble from within if it does. He has burned and drowned and always come up for air but slowly crumbling with nothing to stop the landslide is something worse than even he can imagine. There is no return from that.

And Derek. He is the perfect product of these sick and twisted Games. He is supposed to win. He has taken lives. No, killed. He has killed to survive. They expect him to do it again. They expect him to take his victory. Show his strength.

The people at home and work, glued to their screens for a thrilling finale cannot see that he is the weakest one left standing. He cannot hope to convince them. He thinks maybe a better man might.

He cannot give them their finale. Not at his hands.

Scott stands, brushing his hands down his pants. Small lines of rusted brown blood remain beneath his nails. The traces he cannot erase. His jaw tightens.

“They can’t make us.” He bites out.

“They can.” Derek replies. There is no question. They will have their finale.

“Then we won’t.” Scott insists. There is nothing of the stumbling asthmatic tribute that shook on the stage of District Twelve. There is only absolute blind certainty and burning, smouldering resolve. Derek wants so badly to believe him.

He is so sure. And there are people out there somewhere watching them. People who want each of them to survive. Scott’s mother, his quiet and calculating mentor Deaton. Isaac’s brother. Peter.

Why can’t they all get to keep someone they love? Why can’t they?

Scott’s certainty is infectious.

Scott meets his eyes, steady and patient, waiting for him to grasp what Scott has known all along. There are other ways to win. Really win.

Isaac stands tall beside Scott and his eyes mirror something Derek feels growing slowly in his chest. Something small and unfamiliar. Something hopeful.

It offers him no protection when the solid, snarling body of the wolf leaps at him from the trees and throws his body to the ground.

Claws pierce and tear. His chest is shredding open. Ribs groaning. He can’t breathe under the weight. Teeth grind and snap. He cannot hear his own screams of pain. His skin is too hot and his chest is deflating.

A shout but not his own. The weight is lifted. He is breathing. His chest is on fire but he can’t put it out. Everything is hot and sticky. A slight tug on his jacket. The sky fades in and out above him. Blue and grey.

The wolf is howling. Angry. Pained. Pitiful. Panting. Nothing.

He blinks and Isaac is there. Hand gripping the dagger buried hilt deep in the wolf’s side. His other hand above the ear, gentle and deliberate. His eyes are sorrowful but his mouth is set. He is staring down into the wolf’s lifeless eye.

Derek rolls to his side, screaming as his chest tears further open. The spell is broken and Isaac is at his side. The approaching growls and thundering footfalls signal that this wolf too has a pack. And they are coming for Derek’s.

Isaac throws Derek’s arm over his shoulder and tries to lever himself under his side. Derek can’t stop an agonised, gasping chuckle from escaping his scratched and bleeding throat. There is no way Isaac can ever hope to lift him. He is the strong one. Remember? But Isaac is struggling and shoving and grunting with the effort and none of them will make it and Derek is shoving him away, screaming at him to run.

Wide blue eyes meet his and there are tears brimming over the edges. Isaac is not going anywhere and the howls break through the tree line. Derek closes his eyes on wild, desperate blue ones. He cannot watch the wolves tear them apart. He cannot watch him die.

Another arm loops around his chest and shoves him forward with unexpected momentum. He opens his eyes to Scott’s determined gaze and steady arm dragging him along. They burst into the forest, pursued by claws and teeth and chaos. Isaac drags his other side, trembling with the effort but ploughing ahead, leading them on a twisting path through the trees.

Scott pulls the stake, the very first thing that saved his life in these Games, from his jacket and swings wildly as the wolves attack. Their eyes glow sharp and yellow in the early morning light. Isaac swings with the dagger from his other side, earning howls and yelps from the fur and skin he manages to pierce with his wild attacks.

They are stumbling and crashing through low branches and bushes and a break in the tree line is visible before them. And then they are through into open space. The cliff. They have been forced to a final showdown. The Capitol must have their finale.

The wolves come at them from all sides and their tangle of limbs is torn apart by the weight of pouncing muscle and teeth. Derek falls heavily as his supports are ripped away from him. He rolls quickly, swallows the pain and dodges the snapping, dripping jaws of the grey beast coming for his throat. He has nothing but his fists to defend with and he cannot stop the coming tide. The wolf throws itself at him again and he snaps his fist out at the last second, below its jaw, diverting it from his flesh. It snarls. Thrashes. And comes around again. Jaws wide and bloodied. Derek twists out of its reach but the teeth take another chunk of his chest.

He rolls onto his stomach, crawling away from it. Dragging his broken, bleeding body along the ground. He can feel warm breath running over his neck. It is teasing him, mocking his weak struggles.

He sees Scott fending off two wolves that are circling him. The stake is held out in his hands like a sword and he strikes out hitting their flanks every few seconds. He is losing ground and they are forcing him into a corner towards the cliff. No, he is leading them. Derek can see it now, the angle of his attacks, the rhythm of his hits. His feet stumble at the edge of the cliff face and the two wolves leap at him but Scott ducks under their attack and throws himself down and away from the edge. They have nowhere to go but over. Scott is panting but triumphant as he straightens, turning to face Derek. His face falls and his mouth opens to shout something but Derek can already feel the breath burning right against the nape of his neck and he knows what is coming.

He rolls back over to face the beast as it opens its jaws wide. There will be nothing peaceful about it. Those teeth will not make it quick. They do not know the mercy of a knife slipped between ribs. Those teeth were made to rip and tear and his chest already lies shredded before it. Mercy was never in his story. Why should there be any now? He knows Uncle Peter will not look away. He will torture himself with every second of Derek’s pain before his death. The least Derek can offer him is to do the same. His eyes remain open.

The wolf snaps its jaws shut.

And Isaac is throwing himself between its jaws. Between Derek and his death. And he can see everything.

There is no time. There is nothing he can do. The jaws close on Isaac’s thin, fragile chest. Bone shatters. Teeth pierce. Skin tears. Derek cannot hear Isaac’s screams over his own.

The dagger is in his hand.

The wolf is dead. And another. And another. And another.

There is silence.

He is bleeding and shaking and gasping and breaking.

He cannot feel a thing.

Derek sinks to his knees beside Isaac, cradling matted curls with equally blood soaked hands. Isaac is gasping for air. His chest is a mangled mess and his lips are turning blue. Except this time there is no weapon Derek can throw down to save his life. Nothing he can offer. Nothing he can do. Except…

Derek grabs the dagger from where he dropped it beside Isaac’s head. Scott is clambering up to his knees by the cliff’s edge. His shoulder is bleeding, teeth marks set deep into the skin. He is weak and Derek could take him now. He can take Scott out.

Then himself.

They have to save Isaac then. They _have_ to. There has to be a winner.

He grits his teeth and his knuckles strain so taut they might burst at the seams. Everything is agony but he can do this. He can do this.

Pale, trembling fingers brush against his own and his gaze is drawn down. Isaac is hardly breathing but his eyes are locking onto Derek’s and he cannot look away. Everything is blurring and his chest is heaving and he might not be breathing either. He looks down and he doesn’t see Laura’s eyes anymore because Isaac does not remind him of his family. He _is_ his family. And Derek is not ready to say goodbye again. He grips Isaac’s face on either side, his own hands trembling with blood loss and agony and grief. There is nothing he can do. Nobody he can fight. He has done everything they wanted except for killing this quiet, innocent boy and they are taking him anyway.

And Isaac is smiling up at him with tears glazing his eyes. They are begging him not to kill for him. Not to give in because this is sacrifice and love and Derek cannot look away.

He was supposed to save him. And he has failed. But Isaac is looking at him like he is all that matters and Derek’s chest is tearing apart from the inside. He wishes he could burn this whole arena down. He wishes he could take every bit of Isaac’s pain into his own body. He wishes he could tear down the whole Capitol and leave it a smoking ruin like his home in District Seven. He wishes he could save just this one life. He cannot look away.

He holds Isaac’s face and looks deep into his eyes, tears dropping down and landing on his small, paling face. He watches as everything that made Isaac _Isaac_ bleeds out of his eyes. A smile remains behind. Derek watches. And Isaac is gone.

His cannon rings out in the distance and Derek is roaring. His throat is raw but he screams through its jagged edges. It is not enough. There is not enough breath in his lungs to expel this feeling. To rid him of this emptiness.

He lets his hands fall limply to his sides. Scott is approaching slowly. He kneels by Isaac’s body, his own cheeks wet and swollen. He closes the now vacant eyes and salutes him with three quivering fingers. He looks up at Derek, eyes tracing the deep red slashes across his chest and the lattice of cuts marring his neck. Derek wishes he felt numb but the throbbing, stabbing well of pain is rearing up in his body and he cannot ignore it. His breaths are coming short and sharp and Scott won’t stop looking at him.

“He wanted you to live.” Scott says gently, standing and stepping between Derek and Isaac’s body. He kneels down in front of Derek’s swaying form and holds the dagger out, hilt first.

“So live.” He whispers. And there is no fear or anger. Only sorrow and a fierce understanding in his eyes.

Derek looks hard at the dagger. He was ready to plunge it into Scott’s back. He was ready to end his life. He isn’t anymore. There was a reason Isaac stopped him. He saved Derek’s life out of love but he saved Scott’s for a purpose. Derek, in his grief, wants to see the Capitol burn but Scott from the very beginning has always been better. Kindness and hope are not weapons that thrive in the Games but Scott has survived. He is alive.

He has been fighting the Capitol since he first stepped into the arena, not even realising the power of his defiance because to Scott it is not defiance. It is just humanity. Compassion. And that could mean everything. That could change everything. _Scott_ could change everything. And Isaac had seen it.

Derek shakes his head and pushes the dagger away.

“No.” He gasps out. “Not me.”

Scott’s face is breaking and he is pushing the dagger towards Derek. He is honouring what he sees as Isaac’s last request and Derek knows that pain and that responsibility. It thrummed right down to his bones as he dragged Scott away from Stiles’ dying screams. Scott is willing to give his life to follow through and that is why Derek knows he, not Derek, has to survive. Scott’s hands are clean. He will be the first person to actually _win_ the Hunger Games. He will be a leader. He will change everything.

Isaac was right. Some people are worth dying for.

Derek slumps forward and Scott catches him, holding his shuddering, bleeding torso on his lap. He heaves in shallow breaths through his wrecked chest and stares up into the blue, blue sky. Such a familiar hue, it hurts his eyes to look right at it.

“Tell me about your mother.” Derek rasps as the edges of his vision blacken and fade.

And Scott does. His eyes are red and wet but there is a strong, wistful fondness there as he shares his memories with Derek. Scott’s hands are warm and reassuring on his shoulders. Perhaps it is a happy ending after all. They will both get to see their mothers again. Derek closes his eyes, blocking out the deep blue sky looking down at him and Scott’s voice fades away.

He breathes out.

He can finally, finally sleep.

 


	12. Chapter 12

When they play the edited cut of his Games, they make it seem like it was his story all along. That he was planning to be the last one standing from the moment his pedestal rose up into the arena.

His alliance with Stiles becomes a calculated move, an illusion to prove he was trustworthy. He becomes a strategist, locking onto the strongest tribute left outside the Career pack, threatening him with the life of his weakness. They don’t show much of Allison at all. Out of everything, that feels the most like victory. He is a warrior, holding wolves at bay with only a wooden stake. He is cold and strong to the end, refusing to end his last competitor’s life, preferring to watch the life drain out of his eyes. He is a Victor.

But it is not his story.

When Deaton comes to him on the train back to Twelve and asks him if he is ready to do something, if he is ready to start fighting, he says yes without hesitation. They time it perfectly. He plays along until Ten when he returns the three fingered salute Camden Lahey offers from his lonely perch on the platform reserved for Isaac’s family. When he steps out onto the stage in District Seven, the platform under Derek’s portrait is empty. He does not give the practised speech that Deaton has written for him to help them bide their time, unnoticed, until they are ready. It is time.

He ignores the cameras and speaks instead to the dirty, tired faces of the crowd. He tells them the stories he told Derek as he slipped away. He tells them about his mother and about the peace on Derek’s face as he died. He tells them it is time for things to change.

The cameras have all cut off by the time he has finished but the people who needed to listen have heard him and they are writhing as one, yelling out and storming the steps. The peacekeepers will not be able to hold them for long.

President Argent can look all he wants for Scott’s mother. He will never find her. Deaton is a mystery even to the Capitol and he has played his part for long enough. He has mastered the art of listening. He knows many things that he is not supposed to, including how to make someone disappear. He has done his waiting. On the night of the Victor’s Ball he tells Scott he is ready to go to war.

That night, Camden Lahey is at the front of the mob that storms the Justice Building. The peacekeepers cannot contain the tide and they break through the doors, taking back their District. The doors in District Two open from the inside and Christopher Argent takes his place at the head of his District’s rebellion.

Scott does not appear at the celebration in his honour. He is in District Seven, leading a charge all of his own. He does it because a dead boy’s Uncle, with ice in his eyes and loss upon his shoulders, had asked him to take his place and had whispered a broken ‘thank you’ before disappearing into the shadows. He is here because these are people who need to be lead and he can do that for them.

What he does not see as he is leading one of the many rebellions erupting in the night, is Deaton handing Victoria Argent a small vial. Nor the black liquid oozing from President Argent’s mouth as he chokes under her piercing stare. Her lips quirk up into the ghost of a smile as she watches Peter Hale leap out from the stunned crowd. He is a pillar of plain grey in a sea of sickening colour.

His smile is sharp and broken at both ends just like the stake Derek made in the Games.

He takes his time going for the throat. 

Scott does not see any of this because it is not his story.

It was theirs.

He won’t ever forget their names. He has them tattooed into two rings on his arm. All twenty-three of them. One ring for all the ones he never knew and a smaller one higher up and closer to his heart. Here he puts the names of the faces he will never forget. Allison. Stiles. Isaac. Derek.

They will always be there, under his skin, like they never left. Keeping a silent watch on the new world they died to create.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this! This was my first piece and it means a lot that so many of you showed so much support. So thank you very, very much and I hope you enjoyed it.


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